I’m not a daredevil. If anything, I’m a pee-myself-a-little-then-hesitate-and-try-to-make-up-an-excuse-to-never-do-it-like-ever sort of girl. I’m a refraindevil. So when I found myself scooching across a clear glass slide on a gray mat, 70 floors above the downtown Los Angeles’s bustling and hustling 5th and Flower intersection, I looked down and murmured a well-deserved “What in the fuck . . .”

I’m the type of obnoxious person who has about 15 tabs open at any given moment, with three minimized windows with 15 other tabs open and waiting to be read. It’s really an awfully bad habit to bear and I’m sure would give someone with an anxiety disorder a panic attack.

I am, however, a proud “bookmark slut.” What’s a “bookmark slut”? Someone who doesn’t have the attention span to focus on individual web content (be it a news article, listicle, meme, viral panda video) and therefore bookmarks it and never looks at it ever again. I just made this term up. It’s also an awfully bad habit to bear. Until now. (PS Don’t shame me for it!)

I’m starting a new series called “Bookmark Limelight,” where I choose three random bookmarked pages from my archives to focus my post on, whatever random items they may be.

1. Spoiler Alert: Does Moana have the same plot as Lord of the Rings?If you haven’t watched Moana yet, stop reading this right now, GTFO of here, and get it on Amazon or iTunes. I’ve just become a smidge obsessed with Moana since it came out last November. Ben and I were Lin-Manuel Miranding hardcore with Moana and Hamilton songs playing 24/7 in our apartment throughout this past November, December, and January. And February. And March.

Back to this theory: I will say they are both quest stories, which tend to be similar in many ways. So—hm. I’ll let you make the call!

After the march, Ben and I were trying to get to Clifton’s, one of our favorite spots in Los Angeles because it’s a glorious trifecta: 1. It has an actual cafeteria with decent food, 2. It has vast space spanning three floors, and 3. We could really use a drink. We randomly strolled over to 6th and Broadway, a block away from Clifton’s, where we saw a small crowd form behind a medium-sized, shrouded stage.

Like this:

I’d advise you to read this post, then read this post on how I accidentally ran into Lance Bass and the universe aligned itself perfectly for just a few seconds. Enjoy.

I wanted to chronicle my experience at the Women’s March Los Angeles—not just so I remember it in detail, but to give it the spotlight it deserves. I can name the many reasons why I marched, but here’s a truncated version: for women’s rights, climate change, inclusiveness for the LGBTQ community, and for immigration and embracing the diversity that was supposed to be the blueprint of the United States of America. Yes, walking was liberating, but the march was a moment—we’re in a movement. If we take no action as a constituent, what’s the point?

I started walking to the Palms Metro Station holding my cardboard sign in one hand, and holding Ben’s hand in the other. The Los Angeles sun obliterated all evidence that it rained heavily the day before, allowing us to revel in its rays instead. This was a good sign.

As we approached the station, only a block away from our apartment, my eyes immediately took notice of the huge mass of people already waiting for the Expo line toward downtown Los Angeles. Sprinkled in front of me were a sea of women, men, and children, many holding signs and wearing knitted pussyhats, each in various shades of pink. Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian, African-American, Middle Eastern—it was a scramble of different shades and it felt encouraging.

Last year, I made a promise to myself to continue writing—tangential to work stuff and instead create content solely for my entertainment, focusing on topics that I actually give two shits about. It felt so important to me, but in retrospect, I guess that wasn’t enough. Sure, creating, writing, and producing my own projects have been a goal of mine since I graduated college in 2011, but after examining my life these past six years, I’ve never really followed through with it. I felt stuck in a hamster wheel this entire time—always chasing wild ideas and never actually putting in the time to put words together to tell the stories I wanted to share with the world.

God, that’s depressing.

Writing has always been my go-to outlet and I’d like to think I’m half-decent at it. But someone recently shared a piece of insight that basically led me to re-explore my own priorities and goals: “I want to do it, but I guess I would’ve done it by now. It’s one thing to want something, and it’s another to actually take strides to make it happen. If you haven’t done it by now, do you really, truly care about it?”

Like this:

These are real words that have actually been spit on and all around me, leaving me angry and dumbfounded and just, well, ugh, here we go:

1. Actual comment: “We have drink specials on the menu that I think all the ladies will especially enjoy, like the Melon Summer Spritz, Peachy Keen, and all the Skinny Cocktails. And I see we have a mix of guys and girls at the table. Guys, if you’re okay with it, I’d like to do the gentlemanly thing and start orders with the ladies . . . ”

Like this:

I’ve had this blog since the summer of 2009. In the summer of 2009, I was an almost-junior in college living in Austin, Texas. I was a journalism major dreaming of working at some New York women’s magazine, writing for The Daily Texan, listening to The Doors and Lady Gaga, and dating a guy I thought I’d end up spending the rest of my life with.

When I first started this blog, I was knee-deep in commentary about music, what-ifs, and that-fucking-celebrity-over-there. My biggest worry was finishing up interviews for a end-of-term story, studying for spanish finals, and deciding what end-of-year party I’d hit up first.

As understated as this may sound, things have changed after 7 years.

I’m a person that’s finally settling into her own skin and feeling comfortable doing so (at the moment, anyway). I’m a woman who loves food, feminism, cats, and the brilliance of incredible writing on any medium. I’m trying to move forward from past fuck-ups and into resolve. I want to start writing about what I value most:

Women’s rights, women’s education, and the amplification of women’s voices.

Excellent writing.

Compelling books.

Amazing events in Los Angeles that I’m lucky enough to attend (I do live here after all).

Cats, cats, and more cats.

TV shows and movies that are pure entertainment, no matter the brow level.

What I’ve listed above is a transparent list of what I should be writing about, and what I’ll start writing about.

Oh mel, gee . . . is still my stomping ground for my own thoughts. I’m just rearranging the furniture.